Easons on Dublins O’ Connell Street has a Cafe called Muses… appropiate for a bookshop! While there, looking at pictures of now famous Irish writers on the wall some years back, I, a writer as I call myself, wondered will someday my picture hang there? I think every writer wonders of their legacy after their day… no? This is a very old verse of mine I republish on the website…
As I pay, I look on their faces
And I wonder, are they proud
Now that they are acknowledged with
The respect in life so often not allowed?
And as I eat I wonder will
On some far off distant day
My picture, name and words shall be
On a wall in the Muses Café?
Could I reach the heights they’ve known
With my offerings of poetry and prose
Shall my name be as synonymous as theirs
Only I care and only God knows
Did they on a day now past
Wonder then as I now, of their future fame
The only reward that surrounds our death
For anonymity is the ulimate shame
As they sat and wrote with quill
Did they think as I: as I scribble in Biro
A rhyme to pass the time or record a thought
Of women, nature, or wonders south of Cairo?
The till girl smiles, pearl white teeth with ruby lips
Shy downward glance and snow white skin…
Shall I from those walls of the Muses Café look down
As another admires another and dreams of original sin?